Spirits of the dead showed me hell, but it was a pale imitation
of the horror I can paint on the darkness in a quiet moment.
― Mark Lawrence, Prince of Thorns
Late at night—
Write
Whatever my heart
Sings—
Even melodies
Of pain for you.
So, forgive me, Love,
The places I go
You can't come...
But if you did,
You'd run—
Be frightened terribly.
And I'd grieve
Whatever you found
in me.